“I dare you to,” he cried.

I do not know what possessed me; it was one of the things I am most ashamed of in my life, though, as my wife used to say, I knew that my kisses would be always welcome were she dead or living; down I fell again upon my knees, parted the hair from her forehead, and, with the dearest respect, laid my lips for a moment on that cold brow.  It was such a caress as a father might have given; it was such a one as was not unbecoming from a man soon to die to a woman already dead.

“And now,” said I, “I am at your service, Mr. Northmour.”

But I saw, to my surprise, that he had turned his back upon me.

“Do you hear?” I asked.

“Yes,” said he, “I do.  If you wish to fight, I am ready.  If not, go on and save Clara.  All is one to me.”

I did not wait to be twice bidden; but, stooping again over Clara, continued my efforts to revive her.  She still lay white and lifeless; I began to fear that her sweet spirit had indeed fled beyond recall, and horror and a sense of utter desolation seized upon my heart.  I called her by name with the most endearing inflections; I chafed and beat her hands; now I laid her head low, now supported it against my knee; but all seemed to be in vain, and the lids still lay heavy on her eyes.

“Northmour,” I said, “there is my hat.  For God’s sake bring some water from the spring.”

Almost in a moment he was by my side with the water.

“I have brought it in my own,” he said.  “You do not grudge me the privilege?”

“Northmour,” I was beginning to say, as I laved her head and breast; but he interrupted me savagely.

“Oh, you hush up!” he said.  “The best thing you can do is to say nothing.”

I had certainly no desire to talk, my mind being swallowed up in concern for my dear love and her condition; so I continued in silence to do my best toward her recovery, and, when the hat was empty, returned it to him, with one word—­“More.”  He had, perhaps, gone several times upon this errand, when Clara reopened her eyes.

“Now,” said he, “since she is better, you can spare me, can you not?  I wish you a good night, Mr. Cassilis.”

And with that he was gone among the thicket.  I made a fire, for I had now no fear of the Italians, who had even spared all the little possessions left in my encampment; and, broken as she was by the excitement and the hideous catastrophe of the evening, I managed, in one way or another—­by persuasion, encouragement, warmth, and such simple remedies as I could lay my hand on—­to bring her back to some composure of mind and strength of body.

Day had already come, when a sharp “Hist!” sounded from the thicket.  I started from the ground; but the voice of Northmour was heard adding, in the most tranquil tones:  “Come here, Cassilis, and alone; I want to show you something.”

I consulted Clara with my eyes, and, receiving her tacit permission, left her alone, and clambered out of the den.  At some distance off I saw Northmour leaning against an elder; and, as soon as he perceived me, he began walking seaward.  I had almost overtaken him as he reached the outskirts of the wood.